Things
by Denaliyasha
Summary: When he said he knew she hadn't dressed up for him, he didn't realize she wished he'd ask her to. Fluffy, cute, and BonesBooth


Disclaimer: Not mine.

A/N: Cute... I suppose a sequel to People, but also a post-episode to Two Girls in the Lab.

**Things**

She'd fallen asleep about twenty minutes into that movie. The last time he'd tried to make her sleep, he realized, he'd been blown across the room and she'd never gotten around to it. He first noticed her state of unconsciousness when he'd felt pressure on his injured arm. He'd glanced over, intending to remind her of his pain, but her eyes were closed.

"Oh, Bones..." Booth was careful to speak softly enough not to wake her. She was so vulnerable when she was sleeping. It was a stark contrast to the take-no-prisoners attitude that she radiated normally. The only other time he'd seen her like this was when he'd looped her arms around his neck to lift the rope from the hook. She'd clung to him as though he was the last sane person in the world... and he hadn't even minded that she was squeezing his bruises.

She was so small. Her head seemed to be only the size of his bicep, and it was hard to remember that her brain was not only huge, it was fast. Her eyes, normally so expressive, were hidden by darkly shadowed lids. He could remember the look in them when she'd gently pointed out his medical history... not pity, but compassion, understanding. She'd been tortured too, emotionally, painfully. It was something they shared, that brought them closer. And yet sometimes he felt like he'd never get her... like he was the brawn and she was the brains in the team.

She turned her head, burying her face in his arm for a moment before she stirred and sat sleepily up. "Booth?" She blinked and then realized what she'd been doing. "Oh, god, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" She gingerly prodded his arm, searching for something that would tell her doctor's mind if she'd made it worse.

"I'm fine, Bones, I just... AH. Ok, let's NOT kill the FBI agent, ok?" He winced as her fingers probed a tender spot. "Really, it doesn't hurt... when you aren't poking at it."

"Alright, sorry, I just wanted to make sure..."

He smiled at her apologetic expression. "It's fine. How'd you sleep?"

"As well as can be expected; these chairs aren't very comfortable."

"I doubt they designed them for naps... or for keeping fancy clothes nice." He tried to wave a hand at her dress, but winced and gave up. "You're all wrinkled."

"Doesn't matter, remember? I'm not going on that date."

"Seems like a waste to get dressed up for me." He smirked.

"Under these conditions? Yes. Under other conditions? No." She grabbed the remote and started flipping channels.

"Bones?"

"Yes?"

"Did you just ask me out?"

"Yes." She turned unreadable eyes on him. The bandage cut across her forehead in a horrible reminder of the things she'd been through, things that he'd put her through.

"Why?"

"I'm attracted to you, Booth. And when you got hurt, it scared me. I felt... uncomfortable. Like there was something missing." She seemed honestly confused, and it was the cutest thing he'd ever seen.

"Well, gee, Bones, I didn't know you cared."

"What do you say, Booth. You want to have dinner with me?"

"Well..." He pretended to think hard about it. "As long as you wait for me to get out of this hospital. It's a little hard to get dressed for a date when I can't lift the pudding."

"Sure." She sat there a bit uncomfortably.

"You know, if you come around to the other side, I can put my arm around you." He was trying really hard not to laugh at her or shout to the world that he'd managed to get the smartest girl in the city to go out with him.

Hesitantly, she moved around the bed and sat down again, and he managed to wrap his arm around her shoulders. "Bones..."

"Yes?" She leaned her head against him again, curling a little against his body, careful of his hurts.

"You're beautiful. Just so you know."

"Mmm." He could tell she didn't really believe him, but hey, it gave him a goal.

A/N: Finis. Review, please.


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